


Endurance

by Skylark, Swiftling (Skylark)



Series: SASO 2015 [18]
Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fight Club Fusion, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Swiftling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiruma Youichi is lean and quick in a way that your sturdy frame could never hope to imitate. All of his angles have been honed to sharpness. Meanwhile you're layers upon layers of bulky muscle, built for a strength that endures.</p><p>Both of you are made for fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endurance

**Author's Note:**

> For [the prompt](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/7182.html?thread=2546190#cmt2546190) "Fight Club (-esque) AU. Hiruma is totally Tyler Durden." A fight club AU was what got me back into fanfiction in 2010 and I've had a soft spot for them ever since.

Hiruma Youichi is lean and quick in a way that your sturdy frame could never hope to imitate. All of his angles have been honed to sharpness. Meanwhile you're layers upon layers of bulky muscle, built for a strength that endures.  
  
Both of you are made for fighting.  
  
He has more power than he seems to at first glance. You know that intimately when Hiruma's punch lands on your jaw and your head snaps back.  
  
The shouting of the crowd around you is a distant, underwater sound.  
  
"Come on, old man," he says, his words underlaid with the sharp snap of chewing gum. He bends at the waist and casts his shadow over you, blowing a bubble as his eyes bore into yours. He's all long arms and longer legs, gazelle-like. His wingspan catches you when you least expect it. "Stop wasting time and _fight me._ "  
  
\--  
  
You woke up one morning and he was sleeping beside you.  
  
You've never caught him sleeping after that first time. You're lulled to sleep every night by the sound of him crashing around outside the bedroom. You wake up every morning to find him working on one of a dozen unexplained projects. But that first moment was jarring, bizarrely fragile: an unexpected warmth filling the cold space beside you, the minutes of that first morning spent watching the slow rise and fall of his breath.  
  
Then he opened his eyes and your world changed.  
  
You think about it sometimes. You catch glimpses of that quietness—that fragility—when you're patching yourself up over the bathroom sink after fight club nights. You raise your eyes to the cracked mirror and see his eyes fixed on you, silent.  
  
You look down again, watching diluted blood swirl down the drain, and wonder what kind of project you are.  
  
\--  
  
You get to your feet with effort. But you can move lightly, too, when you need to: Hiruma's not the only one with long arms and longer legs. You find your balance, resting one weightless moment on the balls of your feet, and then explode into forward motion.  
  
He leaps back with a delighted bark of laughter. You expected that, though—this is not your first night at fight club—and so your left hook slides into a feint and you take another lunging step forward, your right leg swinging up in a high arc.  
  
Your kick lands. You feel a dark bloom of satisfaction as he staggers and falls back.  
  
\--  
  
"I'm gonna help you," Hiruma Youichi shouted in your ear.  
  
You were plastered to his back, both of you on the back of his motorbike. He gunned the engine. You didn't know how far over the speed limit you were traveling. The wind made your eyes tear. Helmets weren't even an afterthought (Hiruma's spiky, windblown look was explained the moment you saw his preferred method of transportation).  
  
You hunkered down behind him, though he was too narrow to be a proper windbreak, and felt the warmth of his neck against your temple. His words were distant over the engine's roar but no less meaningful for it.  
  
"I know what you want," he said, "and I'm gonna get it for us. I've got it all figured out."  
  
Your arms tightened around his tapered waist. "What's it gonna cost me?"  
  
Hiruma's laugh was a cutting, thrilling sound. "You'll find out."  
  
The two of you leaned as one into the road's sharp turn. The roadway teetered on a cliff's edge and Hiruma was going far too fast. You accepted these facts for what they were.  
  
"You in or not, old man?" Hiruma called.  
  
"Don't ask stupid questions," you shouted back.  
  
\--  
  
When he's not in the ring, Hiruma prefers red. Red shirts, red scarves, red bubblegum that fades to pink as the hours pass. It makes him impossible to ignore even when he's in your peripheral sight.  
  
But in the ring he goes shirtless. Those are the rules, he says. There's nothing to hide, is there?  
  
You suppose there isn't. You're shirtless, too, a bandana tied around your head to keep the sweat from your eyes.  
  
Hiruma bares his teeth at you—there's no context in which the expression could be considered a smile. He makes to circle you but you don't move to mirror him. He realizes this and stops, staring at you.  
  
"What's your problem?" he says. His voice is low and jeering. "Had enough?"  
  
You don't reply.  
  
\--  
  
You listened to your mother's voice on the other end of the phone. Her voice was quiet, overly firm to hide the tears beneath it. When she finished you replied, "I understand. I'll be there soon," and listened for her whispered "Thank you" before hanging up.  
  
You looked up and Hiruma was there, leaning against the far window with his arms folded. "You're going to fuck everything up," he said. "This isn't what you want."  
  
"I don't know what I want," you replied.  
  
"You want more than a shitty, dead-end construction company," Hiruma said, striding forward. His hands fisted in your shirt. You could feel his breath on your face, artificially sweet. "You want your effort to _mean_ something. After all the things we've talked about? After everything we've been through? Come _on._ "  
  
"My family needs me."  
  
Hiruma closed his eyes. "One more fight," he snarled. "Don't you dare give up before that."  
  
\--  
  
"Hey, old man!" Hiruma says. His voice has taken on an edge. His eyes are wide. "Don't tell me you're throwing in the towel."  
  
You stand silent in the center of the shouting, shifting ring of bodies. "You're right," you say. Hiruma Youichi has always inspired honesty, in a way. "It's not what I want."  
  
You remove your bandanna and toss it to the floor. The shouting around you has reduced to restless murmuring. "Stop," you say, "I'm out."  
  
The crowd falls silent. You turn away from him, and find an avenue has opened up in the bodies around you.  
  
"Hey," Hiruma calls after you. _"Hey!"_  
  
You walk away, wordless.  
  
"I'll be waiting," Hiruma shouts, his voice strident and bitter. "Whenever you figure your shit out, I'll be here."  
  
The circle closes without touching you, leaving you with the spill of blood from your mouth as your only souvenir. You walk out and don't look back.


End file.
